


The Howling

by Spacii



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur you IDIOT, BAMF!Merlin, Entrapment, Fluff and Angst, Infiltration, M/M, Porn With Plot, disguises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-29
Updated: 2012-03-29
Packaged: 2017-11-02 16:09:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacii/pseuds/Spacii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Merlin are forced to face parts of themselves, and each other, that they'd really rather not explore while playing roles they seem to fit all too well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Howling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wangler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wangler/gifts).



They might not get out of this alive. Arthur knew this for a fact.

They were outnumbered twenty to one and with those odds it didn’t matter how deadly he was with a sword, how well the magical fog hid them, or even how great their desire to live was. His heart was thundering like a drum of war in his chest along with the knowledge that this was no longer about surviving the assassination, but how many of them they could make regret trying it.

The woods were dark and he could barely see the shapes of the men he cut down. He couldn’t see Merlin. All he could see was the glint of armor and the glimmering of blades. Damp with sweat he cursed them all, the men in the shadows, his fate, destiny, and Merlin most of all. He was the most courageous, loyal, and traitorous man Arthur had ever known. Lying, Lying for _years_ about his true nature and daring to continue to play the role of friend and loyal subject of Camelot. Had they never come here Arthur would never have known, never had seen _seen_ , how easily a simple disguise could be enough to change Merlin’s entire countenance into something unrecognizable and dangerous.

********************

Hair spiked with flax seed oil, dark hunting leathers, a false reputation for debauchery, and an air of dangerous mystery had been all Merlin needed to completely transform into a new man. To transform into the type of blackguard Nobility spoke of only in hushed whispers and used for nefarious purposes. Discovering Morgana’s location, the traitor, and the source of the deadly curse on Camelot had become a terrifyingly simple matter of Merlin seducing the heir to Celidione’s throne using the guise of a noble with ambition far exceeding his place in the world.

Arthur had watched, amazed, as Merlin had played the role to perfection. Adopting a Noble's arrogance, Uther’s menace, Morgana’s sly smile, and a maddening turn of phrase that said everything and nothing at all with an ease that was almost insufferable to behold. He’d been forced to witness him luring the vapid, scheming Duke with taunting words, insidious lies, and promises laden with passion and conquest.

_“I have the power to destroy a kingdom and you, you have the power to rebuild it.”_

The words played over, and over again in his head like a litany or an oath. He was unable to look away or forget any instance of Merlin’s mastery over the other man as he played the role of the cousin of a minor visiting Baron. Feasts were a hunt through a stone forest, thwarted evil deeds a coy flirtation, and Arthur’d watched near sick with the knowledge of their inevitable success. Every word, every taunting smirk, was exactly what Arthur craved for himself, it was exactly what it would take for **him** to give Merlin whatever he asked for.

_“Prove yourself worthy of it, and it is yours.”_

Every new facet of the disguise and angle of exploitation was both genius and a lash that ruthlessly stripped Arthur’s sense of honor from him to reveal the darkest aspects of his heart. Further and further Merlin sank into the role they’d built, wrapping this new personality around himself like a cloak and refusing to meet Arthur’s eyes except in the darker moments, when he needed an anchor against this madness. Filthy kisses and passionate embraces in the shadows of the castle with the other man had Merlin catching his eyes as if to say: “We chose this. So please, please, don’t hate me.” Arthur tried, he only had himself to blame for asking this of him.

_“Camelot is lush with rewards for those who dare to claim them.”_

By the time Morgana’s location, the name of the traitor in Camelot, and knowledge of the relic needed to lift the curse discovered he’d been more than ready to kill them both. If the unwavering determination in Merlin’s eyes hadn’t clearly been that of his staunch friend, and the vow that this for their home, for _Arthur_ , he might have already. As much as he hated himself for allowing Merlin to do this, for the way his body tightened and burned for it himself, he could not afford to stop it because his kingdom would be destroyed. The death of his own integrity was far better than the deaths of his people and it had seemed that Merlin would agree.

Even when he was captured by the Knights of Celidione due to his foolish jealousy and Merlin was offered an empire for Arthur’s life he’d felt no fear, only a growing sense that if he did not find a way to put an end to this soon they would be swallowed by this corruption. He could not allow that, so he’d made a desperate bid for time. An offer...

“No!” Forceful and impetuous.

Surprise and suspicion had tightened the Duke’s voice when he’d asked,

“Oh? And why not Ambrosius?”

Merlin’s face was pale and his eyes dark with a hot rage that did not quite fit the cold persona they’d carefully crafted. In that moment he had almost been discovered.

“I do not want him near you. You safety would be endangered.” It was nearly a threat.

How the Duke could not tell that Merlin’s fervor was not from petty jealousy was a marvel to Arthur. Jealousy did not sound that way in his voice, anguish did. Arthur knew, Merlin was forever hiding his pain behind a too bright smile. Despite the dire situation a fierce sense of relief had swamped him when he’d realized that not only had they achieved their goals but that Merlin would never, _never_ belong to Celidione’s Duke.

“I want what he offers!” A disapproving hiss from the lithe figure lounging on the throne.

Merlin’s eyes had grown bright with an expression resembling petulant irritation that Arthur knew from experience was closer to despair. A terrible feeling crashed over him and he could not help but struggle against his bonds a little in response as the possibilities raced through his head.

“Perhaps,” slowly, carefully said, “I can... ensure... your desires. With certain conditions...”

The word _allow _went unsaid but could clearly be heard and understood by both Arthur and the Duke. It was a testament to the amount of longing the Duke possessed for Merlin that the statement, obedient but clearly dominating, had gone unpunished.__

“I could place a Geis upon him. You know of my skill with sorcery of that nature.”

A considering silence, then...

“Very well.”

He’d been surprised. They’d joked about it of course, in the more challenging moments, about how to keep the Duke’s interest fresh and magic was a commodity always in demand. Still, He would have laughed aloud at the ludicrous image of Merlin pretending to be a sorcerer, perhaps casting a fake spell, had he not approached Arthur with eyes a gleaming gold, a voice like thunder, and then _actually used **magic**_.

The Duke’s screams of outrage were the last thing Arthur registered before a deep fog and dark, luxuriant laughter carried them away from that place. When the wind finally settled dusk was falling and he faced Merlin in a forest some distance outside the castle. His bonds had snapped apart with a whispered word and all he could do was stare. How could he not have seen it?

The answer was obvious to him now. He had not wanted to know. He’d allowed himself to be manipulated, had wanted to continue enjoy their outrageous friendship without interruption or obstacles. He could never resist bullying Merlin. Almost **daring** him stop Arthur because challenging someone who might be stronger than himself was a part of his nature he could not help but indulge and Merlin was clearly stronger.

Merlin had stalked forward with recently acquired grace and a somber look on his face, had asked Arthur to say something, anything, and he could not. His hands were closed into fists and he was fighting a losing battle with the deviant thoughts that taunted him endlessly with their possibilities, dishonorable thoughts he long strove to overcome. Wrath, greed, and lust.

“Arthur... whatever you think of me now, we must-- we _have_ to get out of here.” Softly, so softly spoken, and yet the words had echoed too loud in his ears and all Arthur could do at the time was shake his head. No. Suddenly Merlin was within arms reach and furious. “We can’t do this now. We _can’t_. We must go NOW.” Face pale and cold, still so cold, even when pinched in frustration. Not Merlin then, but still Ambrosius. Still a gorgeous, filthy, liar. “I’m sor- “

“Do **not**!”

Arthurs' throat burned with the force of the demand, his hands shook, and every part of him called for some sort of denial, or punishment. “Liar,” He’d rasped.

“Yes, I am,” utterly remorseless then-- “I may not be able to stop,” tired, and pleading.

Arthur could see it easily now. How long Merlin must have been doing this? How long would he undoubtedly continue? _Years_ perhaps? Years ahead filled with his bright eyes, an impudent tongue, and lie after lie falling from his plump, pink mouth like rain. Whatever it took to defend Arthur from magic, mayhem, and his sense of duty. The idiot.

“What do you expect of me now Merlin? How can I put my faith in you now?!”

The gold returned to those eyes again. Merlin seemed a fey, inhuman thing as the the sun slowly set and the deep fog rolled in to cover them. He’d stepped forward and fell to his knees before Arthur, cheeks a furious pink, and the mask of his alter ego cracking around the edges.

“I’ll do whatever you say. I’ll accept banishment, I’ll _die_ for you if that’s what it takes but I can’t leave you alone. I don’t want to. I swear on my mother’s head that the only thing you’ve ever had to fear from me and my magic was ignorance.”

It had been an oath, a promise, on the thing he held most sacred and Merlin clearly _meant_ it. He had always been sincere and it was not in his nature to deliberately harm another, this Arthur knew. There was no time to focus on the bitterness of disillusion, or the weight of betrayal that his heart was heavy with. At that moment, with a deep pang of shame, he acknowledged that none of it mattered to him. In that moment Merlin’s act of unfaithfulness wasn’t what had mattered. What mattered to Arthur was that Merlin had dared to kneel before him, made oaths and promises to him with a face that **was not his**.

It belonged to Ambrosius.

Arthur wanted nothing more than to fuck open that mouth with his cock until that mask finally broke and crumbled to reveal that familiar insolent glare. If not for him Merlin could have saved himself, could have saved _Arthur_ from becoming this man who stood before him and would allow another to touch what was _good_ , and _right_ , and _important_ to him. A man who would warp and twist it into something tempered and sharp, then wank himself night after night over how good it looked afterward.

After he’d dirtied it.

Arthur had bent, grasped his chin intent on saying something. Perhaps wax on about honor, loyalty, and friendship but he didn’t, couldn't, because he was battling his internal demons and _losing_. Merlin had stared up at him with such confusion until the gold flickered and dimmed into _knowing_ and _needy_ blue eyes. There was always very little Arthur could hide from him, and in that moment there had been no more lies left to defend themselves against each other.

********************

Now they were surrounded on all sides and Arthur was out of ideas.

Streaks of blood decorated his tunic and sword from the men who’d herded them to the grove of dead trees. He tried to focus on making peace with himself in that moment, tried coming to terms with his regrets and fruitless dreams for the future, but it was impossible. The buzz of adrenaline in his system made every detail painfully vivid, every sound an echoing vibration in his ears, and made his skin hot with yearning for a release from his anger. When the circling knights finally descended he could do no other than meet them and so intent was he in his attack he almost did not hear Merlin’s too calm response to the jeering threats of the Duke’s men.

“ _ **Forbærne**_!”

The ringing of metal against metal was not enough to overpower that wickedly smooth intonation as it was repeated in a steadily deepening voice. Arthur could see them in his peripheral vision, men being burned alive in their armor, trying to escape the flames and running into the foggy night resembling nothing more than deranged fireflies. Still more men came and Arthur strove and pushed forward until only a measly handful of men remained in his path and he was able to take stock of the situation as he methodically broke their guard and severed his pound of flesh.

The majority of the remaining Knights were now focused on the sorcerer in their midst. Number of arms has been the traditional method of dealing with sorcerers however, it seemed that Merlin was in a class of warlock greater than any they’d ever faced before. Face shut down into the frigid mask of Ambrosius he’d methodically rained fiery death upon them in an almost bored manner. Not once did he, or his magic, falter or weaken. 

Arthur's eyes were wide as they met Merlin’s own lustrous gold gaze. Almost mesmerized his hands tightened almost painfully on the hilt of his sword in mortification as the constant, guttural, and unyielding command of “ _ **Forbærne**_ ” did indescribably filthy things to his body. Cock hardening he tore his gaze away with a snarl and rushed the remaining three men coming at him, he cursed himself for his foolishness. The mortifying rush of feeling made his attacks aggressive, and that much more vicious. By the time Arthur had finished with them all he could hear were the terrified screams of dying men and a soft, almost pleased, humming.

He watched as the men burned bright as candlelight under Merlin’s molten gaze, he seemed to no longer need to say a word to work his will. Arthur should have been angry, frightened, even hurt at the time but he hadn’t. What he felt instead was a breathless sort of anticipation and his blood running hot to a heavy throb between his legs. Merlin turned slowly to face him, eyes still flickering that wicked gold and a tight, manic little grin on his face.

Arthur wanted it, yet he hated it. It wasn’t his.

It was greedy arrogance that whispered dark promises and wrapped in an aura of power so great that Arthur knew that, if it were genuine, he’d be on his knees by now; Begging for it. The smirk slowly slid from Merlin’s face and settled into a disinterested, shell-shocked line as Arthur made his way towards him. He briefly wondered if Merlin had already decided, long ago, what he would do if his secret was discovered. Would he run? Allow himself to burn like the Knights of Celidione? There was no way to tell.

Weeks of stagnation, desperation, and the slow demise of his principals left him starved to prove that he was still somehow in control of himself at the very least. Still alive. He needed to see if his Merlin was still somehow intact, despite all this, and hoped that he hadn’t broken something he’d only just begun to realize he treasured so dearly. He was angry, but it wasn’t the magic or even the lies that was the greatest betrayal. It was that Merlin would willingly trample, hide, and even destroy pieces of himself. Never allow Arthur the privilege of knowing him truly. Merlin would instead share them with an honourless cur, sacrificing himself for the “greater good” and leave Arthur with only a fragmented, incomplete man to laugh and cry with.

It was infuriating.

Sheathing his sword in a swift movement Arthur stalked forward, roughly grabbing Merlin by the jacket and walked him backward into the shadows of the massive oaks. Forcing him away from the carnage until all they could see, hear, and smell was the forest. Intent, he watched as Merlin’s eyes flared brighter and his breaths came faster. After weeks of tenuous safety, and now an equally tenuous trust, they were being forced to face a dangerous enemy and have been pushed to the very knife’s edge of disaster. Arthur knew very well what Merlin must be feeling now. Battlelust was something all Knights must learn to confront, its compelling nature easily shattering control that men have spent years building. It was clear Merlin struggled with it now. He must have been terrified. He must have felt like a God.

So Arthur forced him back until the ground became uneven and, in a brilliant show of grace, Merlin stumbled and fell backward into an awkward sprawl. Arthur simply followed him down in a smooth motion that had him kneeling on the moss beneath them with knees on either side of Merlin’s hips. He wanted... so many things. He wanted the man he knew, the man he trusted again, to be here with him. He needed him, because he was falling into the depths and wasn’t sure he was still the man Merlin had pledged his loyalty to.

Arthur watched for a negative reaction to this rough handling, a sign that Merlin would lash out against him in his battle and magic induced high, but he did not. Merlin simply lay back beneath him, supporting himself on his arms, as the color finally began returning to his face.

“You’ve kept things from me.” Arthur ground out harshly. “Too many things.”

His hands slipped from the jacket to curl up and around Merlin’s throat, body shifting and settling down on top of Merlin’s until there was no mistaking how all this has been affecting **him**. One hand curled into Merlin’s hair and yanked his head back while the other simultaneously tightened around his larynx, brought him closer.

“How **dare** you.”

Merlin struggled beneath him but still didn’t lash out and every thrashing movement ground his cock against Arthur’s in the worst, _best_ , possible way. There were so many things Merlin could have said, could could have explained, but he is refused permission to speak them. He’s had _years_ to speak and chose not to. He could wait a while longer.

Arthur steadily rocked and rolled his hips, sliding against Merlin’s own needy body. He stared up at him with shocked wide, wide eyes while gold irises bleed out to a confused, slightly mad, and _needy_ blue-black. Holding him tightly and in place Arthur almost delicately licked his way into Merlin’s mouth until it fell open for him. Teased his tongue and nipping at his lower lip until it’s plump and pink with his attention. Merlin’s voice was a panting, gravely, husk of a sound.

“ _Arthur_.”

He shuddered in response to it, deepened the kiss into something wet and devouring until Merlin shook and moaned with it into his mouth. Arthur knew that he should stop, that it was too much, but he couldn’t hold back anymore. Part of him hoped that Merlin would pull away, would save them both, but more than that he wanted Merlin to change beneath him. Wanted him to break apart and retaliate, pin him to the ground and rage against him. Wanted Merlin to tear him apart and rebuild him into something new, something dark, with that filthy, crooning voice he’d learned. He wanted it painted on his skin, proof of his crimes. He wanted to be punished.

Of course Merlin didn’t obey his unspoken command. He never does.

Instead he’s a shameless quivering mess. Greedily grasping at Arthur’s ass and giving it up as if he can’t help himself, as if it’s natural, as if he’ll allow him anything. Even when he releases the choking grip on Merlin’s throat and starts ripping open the laces on their breeches he just, just _takes_ it. Closed his eyes, leaned his head back further into Arthur’s grip and whined for it. It was frustrating, and confusing, and not quite enough so he pushed it further. Spit down on their cocks and Merlin watched him with this wild look in his eyes like he couldn’t believe this is happening and Arthur’s answering smile was more of a baring of teeth than anything else. Then he’d shoved Merlin back onto the ground, grasped heavy flesh between both gloved hands, and worked them wetly together with short, snapping thrusts of his hips.

“Merlin-” He choked out and Arthur’s knelt there shivering, fists still clenching around them as pre-cum dribbles through his fingers and onto Merlin’s stomach. He tried so hard to provoke him. This isn’t what they are, isn’t anything at all what they should be but he _can’t stop_ and it’s humiliating. Respect, consideration, even friendship suddenly meant **nothing** if he can just have this, this _one thing_ for himself. He hoped he’s finally pushed hard enough, that Merlin will finally come to his senses and stop Arthur before he **hurts** him.

Then Merlin was suddenly up again and **there** , wholly and completely himself again. As if Arthur’s anguish were what managed to piece himself back together just before it was too late. There was nothing cold or cruel in his flushed face, no spectre of another personality, just determination and that look of unwavering devotion that always made Arthur feel the need to look away in embarrassment whenever he saw it. His fingers threaded through Arthur’s hair gently, then he grasped his chin and pulled him down for a kiss that was more of a demand than a request. Merlin never did have any sense of self preservation.

Arthur cursed him for a fool but couldn’t help but to respond instinctively, the way he always has, to Merlin’s lack of common sense and that was to save him from himself. It was hard to concentrate with Merlin’s hand wrapped around his, forcing him to keep frantically stroking, and the way they were gasping and shaking against each other made it clear there was no stopping at this point. If they didn’t stop soon though Arthur wouldn’t be able keep himself from going further... and then Merlin was sucking and biting at his neck and shoulders in a highly proprietary manner and then there really was no going back.

 _‘Please don’t make me...’_ He thought.

Merlin does though. Claws at his thigh and dick and makes this almost inhuman growl into Arthur’s ear that should be monstrous but sounded too close to pleading to be anything remotely frightening. He’s shuddering and bracing himself on Merlin’s shoulders then, reaching back and down into his breeches then between his cheeks. It hurts. It _should_ hurt, but the adrenaline is still thundering through his veins and it feels just as good as it hurts. Damp, leather encased fingers pushed in and _stretched_ almost past the point of bearing. Too fast, he’ll regret it later, but it still wasn’t nearly enough. The ache and burn was almost enough to make him come to his senses. Almost, but not quite.

There was a new look on Merlin’s face then, hand still tugging on their cocks. It was intent, hungry, and yet hesitant. Whatever it was made Arthur angry again almost immediately. Merlin didn’t hesitate to betray his trust, to lie to him. He would hesitate now over causing him a little physical discomfort? He snarled and knocked their hands away from their dribbling dicks, tried to force Merlin on his back to impale himself but Merlin was having none of it. He bucked his hips upward, grabbed Arthur by his jacket lapels and threw him to the side, and then rose up onto his knees between his thighs.

He grabbed Arthur’s breeches and ripped them down to the boots, then ducked under and squeezed his way between his legs. Merlin hoarsely began whispering something under his breath, his eyes sparking gold again for just a moment before he pushed forward and **in**. Arthur wanted to lash out, wanted to stay angry, but he couldn't. It was exactly what he’d wanted Merlin to do but the bastard was made it hot, made it _good_ , and made it mean something. Made the burn and the ache, the bruises, fade into this hot pulse beneath his skin and this act of violation something like trust.

“ **Damn** you!”

Arthur managed, then he was crying out. Utterly out of control, as Merlin slowly worked his prostate with deep, grinding thrusts and relentlessly stroked his leaking cock. The pleasure was a sharp building pressure in his balls and he was suddenly so close. He watched, unable to look away from those eyes, as Merlin watched him fall apart and claw at the ground as he came. Throat raw from his wailing Arthur had laid heaving for breath when Merlin tried to move away.

Tried to _leave_.

He stiffened in surprise, felt something like shame creep its way into his chest until he could focus enough to see Merlin’s face, his eyes. He looked torn. Practically wild with desire but struggling violently with something, a notion, an idea that he was not welcome. The shame left as quickly as it had come and Arthur would not allow this. Never again would he allow Merlin to hold himself apart, to pretend to be anything other than himself, when he had given that gift and so much more to Arthur.

Clamping his thighs onto Merlin’s hips Arthur arched up and fucked himself on Merlin’s still marble hard cock. Blushing furiously, he’d grabbed Merlin by the hair again and pulled him down to lick and nip at his ears and in a rumbling murmur explained how Merlin is never, **ever** , going to hear the end of this. Arthur could feel their hearts racing, felt Merlin’s cock hard to bursting inside him, felt his frustration and his fear. So of course Merlin couldn’t resist a mouthy little comeback, it was in his nature.

“If you’re too whiny I’ll be forced to shove my cock down your throat to shut you up.”

That really shouldn’t have turned Arthur on as much as it had. Except Merlin had said it in that commanding tone of voice he’d just recently discovered and it was as full of tenderness as it was warning. Then Merlin was crying out as he jerked and came and in that moment Arthur swore to protect him, as his King and as his friend, for the rest of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an example of a seemingly simple prompt gone rogue and mutating into a one-shot of epic proportions. lolafeist was nice enough to leave me a prompt for Glomp Gifts on LJ for glomp_fest as my present and then my muse hijacked my brain and ran away with it. The story gets it's inspiration from the song by NIN (Closer) and Within Temptation (The Howling) which kinda set the tone for the fic.
> 
> The original prompt was: Merlin/Arthur - Merlin still high on magic and adrenaline after a battle. (Porn.)
> 
> I have oodles of love for Happyevraftr and Wolfangeldeath who looked this over and supported me in writing it.  
> This has been edited and reworked a bit from the version posted on my LJ which I should update...


End file.
